Lawrence Block - The Specialists

So he said, “I get reimbursed for research expenses, Mrs. Hoskins. So I might be able to compensate your husband for his time.”

Hoskins’ time turned out to be worth twenty dollars an hour. It was money well spent, and Dehn made a mental note to throw a little cash at all of the witnesses. Because Hoskins was getting paid, he kept his mind on the conversation and dredged his memory for the odd bits of detail that Dehn was interested in. Because Hoskins was getting paid, Mrs. Hoskins kept her mouth shut, and that alone was worth twenty dollars anytime.

Last night Dehn and the colonel had gone over the floor plan of the New Cornwall Bank until either of them could have drawn it with both eyes closed. It wasn’t at all hard to come up with a decent line of operations for knocking the place over. But it wasn’t just a question of doing the job effectively. They had to leave fingerprints. They had to make the score duplicate the Passaic robbery in enough important respects so that the dumbest cop in New Jersey could get the message. The newspaper coverage was thorough, but the colonel had pointed out the importance of primary sources. The little details that would make for instant recognition, a gunman’s phrasing, the positioning of the robbers, these were the sort of trivial points that no one would bother to include in a news story or police report.

Hoskins, for example, had mentioned as an afterthought that one of the gunmen had had a wart on the back of his hand. It would be easy enough to putty a wart onto the back of somebody’s hand, and the fact that the original owner of the wart might have had nothing else in common with the new wart carrier meant nothing, since no one person would have been present at both robberies. Police reports of both cases would mention that wart, and that would be a tag.

None of the original criminals had had a mug shot on file, nor did any of Colonel Cross’s crew. A wart was a wart.

“I think that’s all I can remember,” Hoskins said finally. “Of course there may have been other things I said to Lieutenant Frazier, but he could tell you that. Unless you’ve seen him already?”

On the sidewalk Dehn glanced at his watch, walked over to his car. It was parked so that the license plates could not be seen from the Hoskins house. Lieutenant Frazier, he thought. Well, why not? It might look fishy if a crime reporter interviewed the hell out of the eyewitnesses and never even visited the police station. And the colonel always said that the best defense was a good offense.

The fool things you went through, Murdock thought. All of that time and energy spent talking old Mrs. Tuthill into letting them saw an old limb off her tree, just to have a name to toss out at Platt, and here the old Jewboy could care less. Maybe that was one of the good things about being a gangster, maybe you just never had to worry about getting taken by some small-time con man. But Platt, he never even let them get a word in about Mrs. Tuthill.

“All I know about trees is the leaves fall off ’em,” he had said. “And if they die, you can’t replace ’em, you have to put in a little one and you’re dead fifty years before it’s big enough to sit under. I don’t want trees dying, not with the kind of money I spend on this place. You see the garden? The lawn? I got the best. I pay for it and I get the best.”

Murdock hugged the trunk of the tree, put his foot on a branch to test it. He was some thirty feet from the ground, and he turned to flash a grin at Simmons. Simmons could climb if he had to, but he wasn’t exactly at home in a tree, and it stood to reason that a fool who climbed trees for a living would move around up there like a squirrel, and Murdock could do this. Heights didn’t do a thing to him. The first ten times he jumped out of planes, he shat his pants, and the eleventh time he didn’t, and once falling held no fear, heights became quite comfortable.

The branch was sound, so he stepped up onto it and worked up to the next one, testing first, then making the step. At least he didn’t have to saw anything off this time. They had told Platt that they wanted to go over the entire property and survey the trees, and then the boss could send them an estimate on the entire job. That was the best line they could have pitched him. Platt wanted everything perfect, all at once. He didn’t care what it cost, just so his trees and his lawn and his house and his garden were the best he could buy.

Murdock climbed a few feet higher, took a look around. The tree was probably good for another couple of yards but he didn’t want to push it. He had enough height, there were good openings in the branches, and he was far enough up to be invisible from the ground.

He opened the clasp on the canvas sack slung over his neck and took out the little camera. Giordano had explained it to him, and he had gone over its use again with Simmons earlier that morning. It was about as simple as it could get. You just pointed it and clicked the clicker and after you’d done that a dozen times, you popped in a new cartridge and started over.

He shot the whole roll, spacing the twelve shots around what they had taught him to call a 360-degree perimeter, which was an Army way of saying you did what a dog did before lying down, you turned around in a circle.

He opened the back of the camera, dropped the cartridge into the sack, and inserted a fresh one. Then, whistling softly to himself, he started back down the tree again.

Manso said, “Eddie here, sir. I drove by the house at thirteen ten. Our tree surgeons are on the job.”

“Good.”

“I was wondering when I ought to go in.”

“How do you feel?”

“Nervous, but then I’d figure to be nervous, wouldn’t I? From his point of view, I mean,”

“Yes. Did you sleep last night?”

“Some.”

“Enough so that you’re rested?”

“No problem. Sir? I think I’d like to go in soon.”

“Of course you don’t want to rush things.”

“No, but he’s home now, and it would be easier with him at home.”

“Perhaps. You don’t think the coincidence might strike him as extraordinary?”

“Sir, whatever we do, we’re hung with the coincidence. Tell a lie, you might as well tell a big one. It’s the same as being nervous, anyhow. Now’s exactly the time I’d figure to make my play.”

“Good point.” The colonel paused, and Manso was about to say something when he spoke again. “I’d wait a few hours. Give our friends time to finish their survey.”

“Check. Sir? Just how positive are we on the background?”

“Well, Helen did a very good job. The vital statistics are accurate. He was at the right place at the right time. It could have happened. It’s not the sort of thing that can be easily disproved.”

“I figured on playing it uncertain. Reluctant and uncertain.”

“Yes. Edward, if you’d rather take your time on this, I wouldn’t blame you in the least. I’d rather you held off until you felt sure of yourself. A day or two one way or the other—”

“Could make a lot of difference. No, it could. And the waiting is the hardest part. I don’t know Howard’s schedule, Howard and Ben. I think fifteen hundred hours would be good. And if we overlap by a few minutes, what’s the difference?”

“Well, that’s true enough.”

“So I’ll figure to go in about that time. I don’t know when the hell I’ll be able to get to a phone, but if Howard gaffs the car, I’ll be able to signal. So if you don’t hear from me in seven or eight hours—”

“Be careful, Edward.”

“You spoiled my line. I was saying if you don’t hear from me, just start digging around in Platt’s backyard. It’s not that good a line to begin with, is it? I’ll be all right sir. It’s just butterflies. I’ll be all right.”